The Closet
by WildMeiLing
Summary: What if Mia's knack for getting into awkward situations was hereditary? What if Clarisse once found herself in a closet with a man who was not her husband? Just a little jealousy-fueled silliness.


_Oh my gosh, I haven't posted anything all month!_ :) _To whomever reads this, thanks for clicking on my story and giving it a chance. I would love to hear anything you have to say about it._

 _I don't own_ The Princess Diaries _, or anything or anyone related to it._

* * *

It was a beautiful dress. Ivory satin, a corset bodice with cap sleeves, and a skirt that flared out just a little, allowing her legs much more freedom than her lungs, that was for sure. It was a simple dress, too, with few embellishments. On the back, from the center of her slender waist and moving up to the top of her dress, which dipped modestly across her shoulder blades, was a line of very small buttons. Each button was topped with a flower-shaped cluster of impossibly tiny, jade-green beads.

Yes, it was a beautiful dress. Completely impractical, but beautiful. It had a gorgeous luster and elicited admiring gasps. It was a dress fit for a queen. Luckily, it was being worn by one.

Clarisse walked with measured steps and perfect posture. To the casual observer, she looked as she always did. To her ladies maids, she looked like she was trying to not pop the whimsical line of temperamental buttons. She was not looking forward to meting out her air supply for an entire evening.

Joseph watched Clarisse. It was his job, after all. He watched her dance the first dance with King Rupert. After that, he watched her dance with all sorts of noblemen and politicians who were utterly unqualified to be paired with such a vision of elegance and grace. He watched her chatting with flashy women who out-glittered her by far, but whose beauty paled in comparison to hers.

He also noticed how she passed on every circulating hors d'oeuvre tray, had taken only a few sips of champagne, and listened more than she talked - he guessed - in an attempt to conserve her oxygen. These observations rather amused him, and he was glad for the distraction they provided from his other feelings.

All the feelings that came from being hopelessly in love with her.

He sighed and cast his eyes away as Rupert leaned in to whisper something in her ear. He returned his gaze in order to watch her reaction. She offered an agreeable smile and spoke a few words back to him. He nodded and gave her a roguish wink as he walked away. Joseph tried not to roll his eyes, and fought a wave of jealousy.

It was a futile attempt.

Rupert didn't deserve her. No one did, really, but Joseph was willing to try with all his might to be everything she should have. A philanderer for a husband, even if he was a king, came nowhere near to being her ideal match. Joseph might lack fortune and title, but unwavering faithfulness and sincere adoration - those he could give her, if only he were allowed.

He was caught up in his bitter and pointless thoughts, and almost didn't see that Clarisse sought his gaze. She gave him a radiant smile.

Rupert could have her pleasantly regal smiles. Joseph got her real ones. It was a suture for his broken heart, and he re-dedicated himself to his role of protector.

Clarisse watched Joseph, too. It was not her job. So she had to settle for glimpses out of the corner of her eye, or a flash of him as she pretended to scan the crowd. Every once in awhile, there was a meaningful exchange across the room. She lived for those moments.

This evening, her surreptitious glances pulled a certain Italian contessa into her sight as well. Almost every time she found Joseph, Claudia Gatti was not far away, and was, in fact, getting ever closer. By the time the party was almost over, she had insinuated herself snugly into his personal space. Despite Joseph's aloof response and multiple retreats, an intense hunger simmered in Claudia's eyes, and Clarisse knew the contessa was getting ready to hook her claws into her bodyguard.

Clarisse understood that Joseph was a very handsome man. She realized he attracted attention from the opposite sex wherever they went, that his natural charisma often kept him from fully retreating into the background, where he strove to be for professional reasons. Who was she, a married woman and intensely scrutinized public figure, to care?

But she did. She felt…protective of him, ironically. And she felt the need to protect him from Claudia in particular, who had a penchant for dark, handsome men.

Of course, Joseph was capable of protecting himself. He was in charge of guarding Clarisse, with his own life if necessary. He was armed nearly all the time, and always dangerous. Clarisse shook her head. She would not admit she was jealous.

Claudia leaned in until her mouth grazed Joseph's ear, and her moistened lips moved in a suggestive whisper as her claws - er, fingertips sank into his beard.

Okay, okay! Fine! It was jealousy. She was absolutely green with the insidious stuff. She found herself seething, and feared she would pop her buttons after all.

Oh! The buttons…!

Clarisse leaned up against the wall near the side door of the ballroom, and hoped it was not too late to distract Joseph from his slinky temptress.

Joseph noticed Clarisse's wide eyes, and felt a surge of anger for the woman who had been stalking him all night. He had done absolutely nothing to lead her on, and was prepared to plead his apologetic defense to his employer as soon as he could extricate himself from Contessa Gatti.

Then he realized Clarisse's expression was a silent plea rather than a scolding or judgment. Without a word of excuse, he escaped Claudia just as she was ready to pounce, and made his way quickly across the crowded room. He stood next to Clarisse. "Are you alright?"

"Just follow me out, please?" Before he had a chance to inquire further, Clarisse slipped out the door and hastened down the hall. On alert, he moved behind her, staying on her heels.

With a cursory glance in either direction, Clarisse flung open the first door they happened upon and darted in. Joseph was alarmed that his queen had just dashed into a supply closet. "Clarisse? What are you -"

"Just get in. Hurry!" Joseph also glanced in both directions, then squeezed in next to Clarisse, who pulled the door shut. As it turned out, it was a _very small_ supply closet, stuffed to capacity with brooms, mops, towels, buckets containing bottles of cleaners, and two full-grown adults. Joseph's arms flailed about the cramped space in search of a light switch, and from Clarisse's gasp, he knew he had missed.

"Sorry, Clarisse, but I can't see a thing."

"If you're looking for the light, you're not going to find it there. Hold still." He heard Clarisse's hand slide across the wall, and a moment later, a bare bulb lit up the tiny space.

"Do you mind telling me what we're doing in here?"

"One of my buttons popped."

"What?"

"One of the buttons on the back of my dress. I felt it pop in the ballroom. This dress is so fitted, that if one button comes undone, the rest can't compensate for the additional strain."

"In short," Joseph said, suddenly intrigued, "if one goes, they will all go."

"Just get me buttoned back up, will you?" she beseeched.

"Alright, well, um… Turn around then."

"Oh, yes, well…" With some difficulty, Clarisse swiveled around in the tight space. Joseph's eyes closed as the twisting motion caused her satin-clad body to swish against him. He had yet to figure out if this was torture or bliss.

There it was, the button second up from her waist. He fumbled with it for a long minute; each time he thought he had it, the teeny button slipped from his fingers and its place halfway through the buttonhole. The room felt like it was closing in on him as his frustration mounted, and he started swearing.

"I speak Spanish. I know what you're saying."

"My apologies, Your Majesty, but honestly I don't know how this was ever done up in the first place."

"Priscilla has the patience of Job. And also small hands with slender fingers."

"Well, perhaps we should have called her."

"Probably, but I panicked."

"I can't see well enough. The light is too dim. If you could move forward, or if I had room to lean back…"

Clarisse put her arms out in front of her, bracing herself precariously on the edge of a shelf as she leaned forward slightly. The sight of her was wretched ecstasy. "Does this help?"

Joseph groaned. "Yes and no." He tackled the button again. "Just…try not to breathe too much." A few more minutes passed. "I think I've almost got it." The confined space, the warming air, the depleted oxygen, the nearness to the object of his every waking dream - it must have all started to addle his brain. The words were out of his mouth before he could check them. "May I be regrettably honest with you?"

"I -… I'm not sure. What does that mean?"

"It means I want to say something to you that we will, no doubt, both agree should never have been said."

"Then why are you going to say it?"

"I have no idea." Just then - "Got it."

"Oh, thank heavens!"

"You could thank me."

"Sorry, of course. Thank _you_." When Clarisse straightened up, she found herself leaning back into Joseph. His hands had still been hovering over the wayward button in case their success had been a false alarm. As Clarisse's position changed, her back pressed against his hands, and he was as surprised as she was to find them slipping around her waist. They stopped with his fingers above her hipbones. She felt his breath on her neck as her head, completely of its own accord, tipped back toward his. "Tell me," she whispered.

He breathed in the scent of her perfume, heated by the natural fragrance of her warm skin. "I've had a few fantasies uncannily similar to this one, but in them, I've never been trying to keep your dress _on_."

He heard her inhale sharply, then in a flurry of restricted activity, she was turning back around to face him. "Joseph!"

"What happened? Did the button come undone again?"

She reached back awkwardly, and from the way her eyes closed slowly as her jaw clenched, he guessed it had. "Yes," she enunciated slowly, "but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she hissed.

"You said, 'Tell me.' I told you!"

"I had no idea -"

"Really? You had no idea? Come on, I was simply stating what has to be obvious. Pointing out the elephant in the closet, if you will."

"I will not."

"And why not?" They both wanted to look away from each other, but there was hardly space to even redirect a gaze. "I'm sorry. I should not have said that. I wasn't going to do anything about it, I was just talking. Please, turn around, I'll try the button one more time."

Clarisse's cheeks turned pink, and he was certain it wasn't from the rising temperature of the room. "You, um… It's not necessary." She practically stuttered. He had never heard her so lacking in composure, not once in all these years.

"Please, I said I was sorry. I promise, you can trust me."

"It's not that. It's, well…" She braced herself - for what, he didn't know. "It doesn't need doing up."

"It didn't come out?"

"It did, it's just…" She took as deep a breath as her cinching garments allowed. "The buttons are too small, Joseph. They're… They're for form, not function."

"They're not keeping your dress together?"

"No. There's a hidden zipper underneath them." She peeked out at him from her lowered lashes.

Despite the fact that she seemed to think he would be angry, he could only manage confused. "Then why on earth are we in here?" he asked, bewildered.

The color on her cheeks deepened. "Because I couldn't stand watching the Contessa Gatti pawing at you for a moment longer!" she blurted out.

Slowly, everything sank it at once. "You were jealous? We're in here, suffocating, because you were jealous?" A normal person would have been seriously peeved, but he was not normal. He was elated. He wondered if he would be allowed to reach for her, to pull her toward him. They were practically on top of one another, anyway.

"Yes, I was jealous!" She covered her face with her hands. Joseph gently grasped her wrists and pulled her hands away. Whether it was he who placed them on his chest, or whether she did, neither of them was certain.

"Clarisse." Into that one utterance of her name, he poured out his soul. She finally gathered up the courage to look him in the eye again. They stared at each other a long time. He didn't remember pressing his lips to hers. He found himself kissing her, and finally knew the answer to his silent question: bliss.

The kiss was soft and slow, not so much tentative as savoring. Maybe a little tentative. Joseph hesitated to deepen the kiss, for fear he would have a lot of tiny buttons to try and do back up again.

Then a soft moan crossed over Clarisse's lips into Joseph's mouth.

Ah, the hell with the buttons.

Joseph's arms entwined around Clarisse, who molded herself to him as her one of her hands slid up his chest and around his neck; the other, under his arm and up along his back toward his shoulder. Her mouth opened, inviting him in, and they melted together.

Definitely bliss. Pure and utter bliss.

Finally, they broke apart - as much as they could - for air, which they suddenly realized was actually a very real and pressing need.

"Oh, Joseph. We need to talk."

"Yes."

"But not here."

"No."

"We have to get out of here before we collapse. Well," she looked down toward the floor, "I'm not sure we have room to collapse, but you know what I mean."

"I do."

Clarisse opened the door and turned off the light, easing her head past the doorframe with caution. "The coast is clear," she whispered, emerging into the oxygen-saturated hallway. She turned back, expecting Joseph to be behind her, but instead saw the door had been closed with Joseph still inside. "Aren't you coming out?"

"Not yet," came his strained voice from the closet.

"Why not?"

"Just give me a few minutes. To, ah, be presentable."

The nature of Joseph's condition dawned on her. "Oh." She spoke into the thin crack around the door. "Shall I stand guard?"

"If you must."

"It might be fun. I'm not usually the one standing guard, after all."

"Perhaps you could go on back to your guests. I'm not sure you're helping at this point."

" _I'm_ not sure this is because of me. How do I know this isn't all the Contessa's fault?"

"Because I was not wedged into a closet with the Contessa. You were the one pressed up against -… Oh, dammit! Just go on, will you?"

"Is it that bad? Should I be concerned?" She paused, then couldn't resist adding, somewhat wickedly, "Or disappointed I decided to leave?"

"Clariiiisse!"

"Sorry!" She turned around and leaned against the wall next to the door. "Uh-oh!"

"What?"

"Rupert's coming this way," she muttered, moving her lips only enough for her words to be intelligible.

"Well, that took care of it."

"Shh!" she cautioned, standing up a bit straighter.

"Clarisse!" Rupert called out to his wife as he strode toward her. "Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!"

"I needed some air." It was not a lie.

Before Rupert could reply, Clarisse saw another figure headed toward them from the ballroom. Rupert noticed her attention being directed behind him. He turned and greeted the approaching guest. "Arthur! You got my message then."

"I did, Your Majesty," said Viscount Mabrey with a slight bow. He turned to Clarisse. "Your Majesty, I am afraid I did not have the pleasure of dancing with you this evening."

"What a shame," she responded coolly, ignoring the way he made her skin crawl. "I suppose there is always next time."

He reached for her hand, which she gave him reluctantly. He bowed over it, hovering as he said, "Yes, gives us something to look forward to." He planted his oily mouth on her fingers before releasing them.

She quickly drew back her hand and offered a small smile. She pictured Joseph biting a towel to keep from spouting profanities.

"We figured we were at the party long enough. Time to retire to a smaller venue." Rupert grinned at his wife.

"Ah, yes, the traditional almost post-party card game." She was eager for them to get to it, but for some reason, Rupert lingered.

"Arthur, did you see Conte Gatti?"

"Yes, I believe he is also interested in joining us."

"We might as well wait for him."

Yes, why not. Clarisse tried to take a deep breath, then remembered she couldn't.

The two men began leisurely chatting about a very nice watch the Conte Gatti had been wearing, and wondering if he could be convinced to add that to the pot. Clarisse heard the closet sigh.

Then a third person was hurrying toward them. A maid, intent on her destination, almost didn't realize the small knot of people in the hallway included the King and Queen. She practically skidded to a halt, bowing her apologies for her hasty and ungracious entrance.

"So sorry, Your Majesties! We lost a tray of champagne flutes in the ballroom, and I've come for a mop."

Rupert gave her a bemused smile. Viscount Mabrey looked as though he had taken a bite of something disgusting. Clarisse nodded kindly, hoping she was on her way to a special supply closet that held mops just for champagne. The men resumed their conversation as the maid turned to Clarisse, who had unconsciously moved in front of the closet door.

"So sorry, Your Majesty," she repeated in a whisper, not wanting to speak above the king and his guest. She inclined her head toward the door. "I need in there."

Clarisse moved out of the way. "Of course."

The frazzled maid didn't even have the door open all the way when a pair of arms shoved a mop and bucket out at her. For a second, she stared, wide-eyed. Then she grabbed the cleaning supplies, and one of the anonymous arms pulled the door shut. The maid didn't move for a moment. She looked to the Queen to see if she had witnessed the strange occurrence. Clarisse was resolutely looking the other way.

The maid spun back around, still in shock.

"That was fast," remarked Rupert. "You're very efficient."

She blinked at him, then found her voice. "They were the first things I put my hands on." Then she dropped into a curtsy and all but ran back to the ballroom, remembering that some things were meant to remain unquestioned.

The maids might know everything, but they didn't always want to.

Rupert sighed impatiently and looked at his watch, which apparently didn't compare to the Conte Gatti's accessory, as looking at it caused his sigh to deepen. "Shall we continue on then, Arthur, and leave Gianfranco to find his own way?"

"Your wish is my command, Your Majesty."

Clarisse was glad she had been unable to fit food into her stomach. It probably would have come up at that moment.

Arthur turned to Clarisse. "A delight, as always, Your Majesty."

"Yes." He seemed to wait for her to say more, but no insincere compliment was forthcoming in return.

"I've already given my excuses, darling. I suppose you'll be back in to say good night to our guests?" Rupert questioned, almost picking up on the rare occurrence that was his wife's odd mood.

She offered a serene smile. "Naturally, dear."

He seemed appeased. He took her hand and pulled her toward him. "Good night then," he said, giving her a peck on the cheek.

"Good night."

She calmly watched them as they continued down the hall, Rupert pausing to throw one more backward glance toward Clarisse. She gave a casual wave, and he was reassured once more. They turned a corner, the Viscount's raucous laughter echoing behind them.

She was certain they weren't coming back, but she did not know how long it took to clean up a tray's worth of champagne flutes. She opened the closet. Joseph jumped out, then closed the door firmly and leaned against it. "Dear Lord, it was warm in there!"

She stared at him. He met her gaze and frowned. "You do not look sufficiently repentant."

"Oh, but I am! I am terribly sorry for all this." Her hand flew up to cover her mouth. It was too late. An un-queenly giggle had escaped.

"No, that's alright. Laughing is a perfectly acceptable response to this situation."

"It is a little funny."

"Maybe for you. I was the one stuck in the room breathing in recycled air."

"You'll be laughing about it tomorrow."

"I don't think so," he responded quietly. Clarisse felt all lightness fall away as the reality of their situation reasserted itself.

He held out his arm to her. They made their way slowly back down the hall toward the ballroom.

"It won't be much longer, will it?" Joseph asked in an almost pleading tone.

"I only need to say good night and make my excuses. Everyone will be leaving soon."

"Then we will talk?" he asked. She thought the question was tinged with sadness.

 _Torture_ , they both thought.

She nodded. She felt it hard to breathe, and knew it had nothing to do with the dress. Stopping outside the door to the party, she pressed her hand softly against his cheek. His eyes held her gaze as he covered her hand with his. Lacing their fingers together, he turned his head to place a kiss on the palm of her hand.

Reluctantly, they released each other, and re-entered the ballroom.

 _The End_


End file.
